


the both of us are running out of time

by katyfaise



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyfaise/pseuds/katyfaise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not time for them yet. </p>
<p>Soon, she thinks. Soon, she hopes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the both of us are running out of time

** New York, USA & London, England**

It starts with Napoleon being pulled out of UNCLE, something about America needing their finest asset back all to themselves. Gaby doesn’t understand all of the semantics that Waverly explains to she and Illya and Waverly doesn’t offer any further explanation. She and Illya watch quietly when Napoleon packs up a bag full of things from HQ. He somberly claps Illya on the back, shakes Waverly’s hand, and then picks Gaby up in a tight hug.  

She didn’t think it would be so sad to watch their little team fall apart, but it hurts in the deepest depths of her heart. 

Napoleon promises that they will stay in touch and Gaby nods solemnly.

They watch as he leaves the office and Gaby finds her hand searching for Illya’s, but it isn’t there. His arms are crossed and his jaw is tense, so instead Gaby stands still and waves lightly at the back of Napoleon Solo.

It’s three months later when the funding runs out - Gaby watches as the job she became so comfortable in crumbles around her. She begrudgingly agrees to go back to London and the SIS and Illya work out another month before he has to return to Russia. 

The month flies by - 31 days fade into nearly nothing at all.

“This isn’t going to work,” Gaby announces over dinner in her flat, her voice low and the neck of her sweater stretched too far from a nervous tick. Illya looks up from his soup and stares at her for a quiet moment. He doesn’t look confused or even hurt. He looks like he understands and he nods.

And Gaby feels the lump in her throat grow. 

They finish their dinner in silence and go to bed together, no words between them. The next morning, Gaby accompanies Illya to the airport to catch a plane back to Russia.

They agree to keep in touch.

Gaby doesn’t know if she will be able to.

** Tangier, Morocco 8 Months Later** 

Illya lowers the sunglasses on his nose and glances sidelong at the files he grasps. He’s been in Tangier far too long for his liking. It’s just that this mission has dragged on and on - long enough to put him on edge at least - and he’s frankly exhausted.  

The familiar name on the new files he’d been sent had brought a new sense of purpose along to him.

When Illya learned that the KGB was making a trade with the SIS for information he had thought of it. 

Until he read Agent Teller.

Now he sits on the outside of the market, watching various faces go back and forth haggling and making deals for goods. He yawns and crosses his long legs at the ankles, waiting patiently. He wonders if she knows who she’s meeting - assumes that she does, given how competent she is. 

Illya wonders even more if she has tried to avoid this meeting.

He sees bright purple headscarf first then his eyes drift to the large black shades that cover her eyes. Illya stands casually and makes his way into the market, hands deep in his pockets to resist the urge to touch the vegetables and fruits and spices he comes across. He stands at a distance and watches her, watches how familiar her body moves as she argues over the price of an apple.

Only Gaby would argue how a single apple is too expensive. 

He takes a moment to laugh and rub his brow, and when he looks up again she’s gone, disappeared into the crowd. Illya frowns and glances around in a hurry. The purple scarf is nowhere to be seen and Illya cannot help but feel annoyed at his own ability to be distracted. 

Illya turns quickly and doubles his steps out of the market, but before he makes it too far a heavy object hits the back of his head and knocks his hat off. He stops short and glances down at the apple that’s fallen to his feet, shattered now that it’s hit the ground. Illya rubs the back of his head and turns slowly, immediately catching eyes with the small brunette who sits on a cast iron stool outside of a cafe sipping from a tea cup. 

Her eyebrow is raised and Illya’s frown is deeply set on his lips.

He crosses the path and drops down in the chair across from her.

“I forget that I don’t like apples,” she says simply, setting her cup down. 

“I’m glad it was put to good use.”

Gaby smiles and taps her fingers on the table top, eyes trained on the large man across from her. 

“You look well, Illya,” Gaby continues, unwrapping the scarf from her head. She lays it out in front of her and with the scarf covering her hands she brushes her fingers along Illya’s. He looks up at her and a smile turns at the corner of his lips. It’s barely there for a moment, but it’s enough to make Gaby’s heart.

Illya squeezes her hand and slips the files across the table to her. Gaby pulls a slip of paper from beneath the table and repeats the action, but her hand lingers.

He stands then and takes a step away, fingers brushing against her shoulder as Gaby leans into his touch slightly. 

Gaby thinks that she hears him say that he misses her.

She isn’t sure. 

** Rome, Italy 5 Months Later **

Gaby hopes that her happy memories in Rome will keep her mind focused. She can close her eyes and see the blue eyes that she fell for, feel the large hands on her thighs and then dip even deeper into how much she misses the man she loved. 

Loves.

She doesn’t know which it even is anymore.

Her mission is all but over, the matriarch of the Accorsi crime family is sitting in a dark cell waiting to be brought back to London to answer for her crimes. Gaby has no choice but to wait patiently until the sun rises and she can be extracted. 

Gaby has never been good at sitting patiently and twiddling her thumbs. 

She tries to distract herself with a swim in the hotel pool. Tries to enjoy the room service she orders on MI6’s dime. She even tries to get through a few more pages of a novel before her eyes fall on the drinks cart in the corner of the room. 

It’s all too familiar and she’s intoxicated before she realizes her mistake. 

But getting drunk out of her mind isn’t the worst mistake she makes - picking up the phone and dialing out of the country, the number she knows so well… that’s the worst mistake.

Moscow is only an hour ahead of Rome, so it’s two in the morning there. She wonders if he is busy on a mission, staking out some place with his camera and calm eyes. Or if he’s asleep, tossing and turning and having terrors because the only time he was at peace in his sleep was when someone was beside him. 

“Da?" 

He answers on the fourth ring, right as she is close to hanging up. The voice is sleepy and heavily accented, a characteristic of Illya’s when he’s tired or not fully awake. She listens to his breathing for a moment before taking a breath of her own.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Gaby says, and she hears shuffling.

“Gaby?”

The way his voice wraps around her name makes her falter. She can barely see straight, the alcohol blurring her vision and warping her judgment, but his voice is strong and sure and so clear. 

And Gaby misses him.

There is a long silence and he whispers her name once more. A sob rips through her and shakes her body.

“Were you dreaming?” she asks quietly, trying hard not to let her voice give away her drunken stupor.

Illya sighs and she pictures him sitting up in his dark flat, leaning against the headboard and taking a sip of water from the glass that sits on his nightstand. 

“Yes. Of you. Of us.”

His answer hits her in the gut and she sighs, wipes her eyes and slinks back into the couch cushions.

“Will you stay on the line with me until I go to sleep?” she asks.

Tomorrow the phone bill for the room will be extravagant and she will have to explain herself to her superiors, but for now all she focuses on is the sound of Illya’s voice as his deep baritone sings a lullaby in Russian and she drifts off to a dreamless slumber.

** Los Angeles, USA 7 Months Later**

“Can I buy you a drink?”

The voice is warm and cheerful, and immediately Gaby turns her head to greet Napoleon Solo with a wide smile and even wider arms as she stands to hug him. They’re both stranded in the terminal, planes delayed because of the weather outside. She is to return to London as soon as possible, but she’s grateful for the chance to relax. 

She’s even more grateful that the three of them crossed paths. And that the 6’5 Russian KGB agent joins them at the terminal bar for a drink as he too waits out the weather. 

A few drinks dissolve into many and before the sun sets Napoleon’s plane is ready to go.

“It was good to see you, Solo,” Gaby says, hugging him tight in her arms. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to join me in New York? It’s better than dreary London.”

Gaby knows the offer is in jest, but she considers it for a moment before kissing him on the cheek and declining. 

Both she and Illya bid him goodbye just as they had all those months before, except that when Gaby reaches for Illya’s hand, it’s here, and he brushes his thumb along her calloused skin.

They both reschedule their flights and leave the airport in silence, the air heavy around them. She sits close to him in the back of a cab and watches as the rain surrounds their journey. He carries their bags for them as Gaby purchases a room in a hotel near the airport. They walk the hallway together in silence, Gaby shaking the keys with each step. When they find the room, she places the do not disturb sign on the handle and follows Illya inside. 

He leaves their bags beside the door and instantly picks her up, presses her back against the wall as her legs hook around his waist. Illya kisses her over and over, lips moving from her lips to her cheeks and down her neck, all the way down her chest as Gaby nervously unbuttons the front of her dress.

Illya carefully helps remove her bra and bends his head to run his teeth along the soft flesh of her breasts. When he bites down on her nipples, Gaby moans out a whisper. Her fingers dig into his neck and she lifts herself slightly, feeling his hands drift down her thighs. When he pushes her underwear aside and she feels his thumb brush her clit, Gaby curses under her breath. 

He nearly brings her to orgasm there against the wall, but just as she is close Illya pulls his hand away and Gaby whines at the loss of friction between her legs. 

“Please…” she begs, face hidden in the bend of his neck, words needy.

He nods and carries her to the hotel bed, the comforter and sheets white and a stark difference to her dark hair as she lays out before him. Gaby pulls Illya to her body, holds him close even as they both undress in a hurry. The first time is frantic, nails scratch down bodies and leave marks in their wake along with teeth. It has been too long since they have felt in each in such a state, and they come with each other’s name on their tongues. 

They make love over and over, holding each other tight in the moments between, but when they’re truly tired, the two stare at the ceiling as she lays comfortably in his grasp. Gaby rests her head on Illya’s chest as he drifts off to sleep - listens to his quiet breathing and watches his chest rise and fall. She thinks of all the times she took this very position for granted, how many times she felt safe and content in his arms. 

She wakes up to an empty bed, the spot beside her cold. 

** Berlin, Germany Four Years Later** 

It’s near the Brandenburg Gate that she sees him again, poised and relaxing against brick with a hat pulled low. Gaby takes the moment to observe him before he observes her, but he looks up and catches her eye even at a distance and she cannot help but smile.

Always in each other’s sphere.

She feels her hand being tugged and she glances down to the toddler pulling her away from Illya’s direction, a mop of blonde curls on her head as she cries out for her mama to follow. Gaby looks down at the blue eyes beside her then back up to the pair across the distance. 

It’s not time for them yet. 

Soon, she thinks. Soon, she hopes.

“Libeling, lass uns gehen,” she says to the little one and relents as she is pulled away.

 


End file.
